Our love is peculiar (don't care)
by LadyLeafling
Summary: Love at first sight was a myth. Rhiannon had known Hermione for as long as the other girl had gone to Hogwarts and neither of them had fallen magically and painfully in love with eachother the moment they laid eyes on one another... but that doesn't mean they didn't eventually, though. Femme-slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I haven't the slightest idea why I wrote this, I just know I no longer have writer's block so I'm not gonna chance it. Expect plenty of errors as this story is un-beta'd and I haven't read OOtP (or any of the other Harry Potter books) in quite some time. **

**Future femme-slash between the OC and Hermione… just wanted to warn you all now. If you're unfamiliar with my work, you'll find that this story will be riddled with all kinds of bizarre, kinky stuff 'cause that's just how I roll.**

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_**"Love, like Fortune, favours the bold." ―**_E.A. Bucchianeri.

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Another day, another problem; Hermione had barely been a prefect for a month and she was already tired of it. If it wasn't the gullible first-years setting off one of the Weasley twins pranks in the halls, it was Fred and George themselves running amok; between chasing pranksters up the halls like a madwoman and locking horns with her rival, Pansy Parkinson who was just reveling in the fact that she could now make others squirm with her newfound prefect-status, Hermione was losing her mind.

It didn't help that, between managing all the Gryffindor underclassmen and keeping the Slytherins from terrorizing everyone else, Hermione scarcely had any time for studying or hanging with Harry—not that he really minded, though, what with Cho Chang being on his mind 24/7 since they started going out.

Now, as the bushy-haired witch rushed down the hallway, ordering people from her path as she swept by with a sense of overwhelming urgency, she not only worried about the dire situation at hand, but also the quality of her schoolwork; though, her grades had not yet suffered, Hermione wondered if she was making her reports detailed enough for her professors were beginning to skim through them.

As her pace rapidly accelerated from a brisk stroll to a full-on run, Hermione darted by Ron and nearly shoved him into the wall as she stumbled to avoid hitting the second-years he was being chatted up by. "Sorry!" She called over her shoulder, steps faltering momentarily as she tried to regain her stride.

"Oy, have you got a screw loose or somethin'?" Ron shouted back, stepping away from his charges to get a better look at Hermione as she gradually disappeared amongst the throngs of students heading to-and-fro their designated classrooms.

Hermione waved her hand hastily, hoping to dismiss Ron. "No time to talk; trouble with the girls' bathroom. See you at lunch." She assured before cutting down another hallway and disappearing from sight completely.

Ron look perplexed. "Huh? Girls' bathroom...?"

"Are you going after her?" One of the second-years asked, eyes wide and curious behind large wire-rimmed glasses. "Hermione's lookin' bad; I reckon she's gonna need another wand if whatever's going on is enough to get her running."

"She looked fine to me." Ron said as he scrunched his face up; after mentally processing the underclassmen's words, he groaned and took off after Hermione. _"I really hate this prefect thing,"_ he complained under his breath as he went.

It took Ron a bit to relocate Hermione but when he did, she was at McGonagall's office panting and shouting meekly at the pulled-up door. "Professor, the... the girls'... bathroom!" She wheezed pathetically.

The redhead, breathing hard himself, approached the door and together with Hermione shouted: "Professor McGonagall!" To which they received no reply.

"Bollocks," Hermione swore under her breath before whipping around on her heel and starting off in the direction she came.

"Wait, where are you going?" Ron huffed.

Hermione paused, turning to face Ron with anger and dissatisfaction etched into her features. "Professor Snape's office." She informed curtly. "Someone has got to be in; if not Professor McGonagall, than it has to be Snape!"

"What's going on? What's so bad that'd you'd go running to SNAPE for help?" Ron asked looking incredulous.

Hermione threw her hands up, groaning testily before she launched into a short explanation of the events that transpired which ultimately culminated with her being here and needing Snape or someone's help. "You know Rhiannon MacIntyre, right, the 6th year from Ravenclaw?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I remember Ann."

"Well, her kid-sister, Keira, hexed one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom and she thought she'd fix it before someone found out and told on her." Hermione explained, talking a mile a minute as she wrung her wand in her clammy grip. "Now she's trapped in the stall with... Merlin knows what that thing is and I've got to get one of the Professors to help get her out!"

"Is that all?" Ron looked unimpressed. "Keira's not all too good with magic; what's the worst she could do?"

* * *

The tentacle bound around Rhiannon's ankle squeezed especially hard as the witch struggled to free herself from its slimy hold. "Augh, Hermione, somebody, please! Help!" Rhiannon screamed, hands reaching out and gripping the top of the stall to keep from falling over. Tentacles flailed from the very depths of the toilet, soaked with fluids most viscous, all reaching out to coil around its prey: her.

Capturing Rhiannon's waist, the moist tendrils held fast onto her as they wiggled and writhed mindlessly. A monster worthy of Lovecraftian lore and all it wanted to do was cuddle; Rhiannon counted herself lucky, knowing how sadistic Keira's magic creations tended to be.

Laughing involuntarily as a few errant tentacles slid under her arms and across the surprisingly ticklish backs of her knees, Rhiannon called out again: "Hermione! Come on, I'm getting tired!" Moving with the tentacles as they pulsed and wiggled around her, Rhiannon tried not to focus on the feeling of fatigue that set upon her.

Standing on the rickety rim of the toilet being molested by an oily, faceless creature? Yeah, not how anyone would want to spend the intermission between classes; especially when your next class was Potions and there was no way you could clean yourself up fast enough to not get in trouble with Snape.

Ah, bollocks, isn't Snape the reason Keira did this in the first place? The potions master calling her a talentless squib 'cause she was unsuccessful with the sleeping draught put the young witch into such an ill-humor, and the third-year had been on a mean-streak of hexing and hiding other students' valuables since then.

Nothing, it seemed, was able to cheer her up. Except word that her good-for-nothing older sister was ensnared by her hex and was now being held hostage by it.

Shuddering as a tentacle found its way up her shirt to strain against the remaining buttons that held it closed and her sweat-dampened brassiere, Rhiannon hoped like hell that McGonagall would give her sister a lashing or something akin to one. Somehow, expulsion never crossed Rhiannon's mind even as other, more nefarious, punishments did.

A sound caught between a shriek and a hiccup escaped Rhiannon's mouth as the tentacle climbing up her shirt wrapped around her neck; not too tight but just enough to have her worried. Just what in the bloody hell was Rhiannon thinking when she thought she would will away this unholy creature with just a simple spell or two? It's no wonder all the damned thing had to do was swat her wand out of her hand to disarm her; Rhiannon didn't plan ahead enough for the scenario to have played out differently.

Cursing her own lack of forethought, Rhiannon squealed when a tentacle boldly slipped its way up her skirt to coil around the uppermost portion of her thigh. Shit, they weren't even on a given-name basis and already it was groping her in places not even her ex was allowed to touch!?

"Hold on there, Mate, you don't at least wanna buy me coffee first?" She asked; voice pitchy and broken as more tentacles moved to join the one up her skirt.

Feeling the chilled fleshy mass moving against her panty-line brought a flush of crimson heat to her face. Letting go of the stall with one hand, Rhiannon hastily reached down to swat them away. "Oy, stop that!" She panicked, gripping one of the slippery tendrils only to have it slip from her grasp.

"Stop it!" She repeated more firmly as the monster pulled her legs open, clearly interested in what lie betwixt them. "Help!" Rhiannon shouted as her legs were pried apart. "HERMIONE!?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: Thank you everyone who alerted and reviewed! :) I was going to wait until next week to post but... heh, I kinda want to get this story finished as soon as possible since I don't have a Beta. **

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"Ms. Granger, I will not have you thinking that it is okay to beat on my door like a heathen; ten points from Gryffindor." Snape said coldly, entirely uncaring that Hermione and Ron looked all out of sorts from having run all the way.

The latter sat up abruptly from his hunched position to give Snape a piece of his mind when Hermione elbowed him in the ribs and took the lead. "I'm so sorry, Professor, it's... just that ... McGonagall." Hermione started; only to be interrupted by Snape waving his hand dismissively in her face.

"Speak in full sentences, Ms. Granger, or I shall be forced to deduct another ten points and send you on your way." Snape threatened. "I do not have time for your nonsense, so whatever it is, do be quick about it."

Red in the face from frustration and embarrassment, Hermione quickly regained her composure before informing Snape of the situation at hand. "And if we don't help her—!"

Snape quickly interrupted the rambling witch once more with dramatic flick of his wrist, unable to care less about her explanation. "You and Mr. Weasley are prefects, are you not? This sounds like something easily handled between the likes of you, or perhaps you are not fit for your title?"

"But, Professor Snape," Ron interjected right as the Potions Master began to turn away from the door. "Hermione says that it isn't like anything she's seen before; Rhiannon could be in real trouble and we don't know what to do!"

Snape rolled his eyes, deeply annoyed by the melodramatics; however, as a Professor and Head of House, if a student was in peril and this news was brought to his attention, it was his job to see to it that the situation was resolved. "Let me get my wand, then." He said plainly. Sauntering from the door, Snape strode to his desk without the slightest sense of urgency. And once he claimed his wand, Snape idly returned to Hermione and Ron more uncaring than even before. "Take me to this supposed danger. But do keep in mind that if this is a waste of my time, not only will I be taking points from your house, but I shall give you both a week's detention as well."

Ron gulped, suddenly losing his nerve. Hermione nodded curtly before grabbing Ron's hand and virtually dragging him back down the hallway. "We can't thank you enough, Professor Snape." She said bitterly to the man trailing behind her. Snape scoffed but said nothing more as he followed the two prefects.

"Oh, Merlin, this isn't happening!" Rhiannon cried, struggling more earnestly against her sister's magical monstrosity as its tentacles molested every inch of skin it touched; slippery like handshaking someone whose palms were slicked with baby oil and cold like a winter holiday spent in the castle alone, the tentacles eased their way into every protective layer of Rhiannon's clothing to wiggle against and sloppy massage her most private places.

Had she not be deathly afraid of the inevitable deflowering at the hands (erm, appendages) of the fabled 'Nyarlathotep' come to life, Rhiannon would have marveled at the myriad of pleasurable sensations that gripped her by the pit of her stomach. Who knew something so gross could feel so... good?

Shuddering as she felt the tentacles press closer and closer to her unclothed skin, as if it meant to become one with her, Rhiannon could have sworn that the monster was pulsating to the rhythm of her heartbeat: fast and unsteady; almost on the verge of a cardiac arrhythmia.

Gasping here and there as pleasure began to make itself known with each of the tentacles slick movements, Rhiannon pressed her head against the stall and began praying that, whenever Hermione got back with McGonagall, she wouldn't look like a complete mess; moreover, she hoped the other would hurry up and get back before the monster finally got up the courage to slip inside her underthings.

Bold as is, Rhiannon wondered briefly why it hadn't done so already. This thought was quickly dispelled when Rhiannon's wrists were captured and the tentacles took control of her arms. Held up only by 'Nyarlathotep' at this point, Rhiannon cried out indignantly when the creature pressed her hands roughly against her breasts; a gesture that her subconscious construed as the creature telling her to touch herself.

But why? What exactly was this hellish thing's deal; more importantly, what was Keira playing at, conjuring this perverted thing?

Groaning in discomfort as her palms flattened her bosoms to her chest; Rhiannon struggled to close her legs when she spotted a particularly foul-looking tentacle worm its way out from the murky depths of the ceaseless toilet bowl.

Thick, slimy and awfully phallic, the tentacle dripped with a murky fluid all its own. Opaque and very reminiscent of ... well, Rhiannon didn't want to talk about it... this fluid dribbled from the slit at the tip of the tentacle, down, down, down the ripped underside until it disappeared amidst the writhing base of the monster in the toilet below.

"No, no, no!" Rhiannon screamed watching in horror as the turgid appendage flailed clumsily against its thinner kin; moving with drunken purpose, it bumped against Rhiannon's leg once or twice before finding its stride and coiling around her lower-regions like an uncomfortable, living pair of knickers. Feeling the white, pearlescent ooze trickle down her leg as the appendage wiggled higher and higher, Rhiannon felt her waterline prickle with the beginnings of tears.

For the first time since this madness had begun, Rhiannon felt a true sense of fear creep up her spine; like a cornered animal about to be devoured by the much stronger, much deadlier creature that caught it, Rhiannon saw her life flash before her eyes.

"Ouch!" Rhiannon shrieked; the elastic waistband of her undergarment snapping against her lower back brought her back from her despairing reverie. Her skin stung as the phallic tentacle snapped the elastic again, this time in the front. The creature seemed to be toying with her. Merlin, this thing had a sense of humor; a poor one at that, but a sense of humor nonetheless! It wasn't mindless after all, then; seemingly fully aware of what it was doing and how it was affecting Rhiannon. Damn Keira to the deepest depths of hell!

Reacting when it snapped the waistband one last time with a violent screech, Rhiannon barely heard the sound of Hermione throwing the bathroom door open. "Are you still in here, Ann?" The prefect called apprehensively as she entered the lavatory with her wand at the ready; not far behind her was Professor Snape and Ron, but the latter remained at the door as he was too uncomfortable to enter the girls' bathroom so long as Snape was there.

Rhiannon squealed in delight, the Calvary had finally arrived! Opening her mouth to express her glee, the witch let out a strangled cough as the tentacle around her neck tightened; 'Nyarlathotep' didn't want to let her go so easily, it seemed. Trying to pry her hands from her breasts, Rhiannon shouted meekly for her classmate's help. "Did you get McGonagall?" Came her weak cry from inside the locked-stall.

Hermione blanched. "Huh, erm, well, no..."

"What is the meaning of this, Ms. MacIntyre?" Snape barked; pushing passed Hermione to approach the stall.

"I..." Rhiannon paused to find her words; thinking had become a chore as the tendril wrapped around robbed her of precious oxygen. "I. can't. breathe...!" She finally managed; wheezing in between words as she tried to steal any bit of air she could.

Snape shot an indecipherable look to Hermione before turning back and raising his wand. "Stand back." He ordered brusquely right before uttering a spell that blew the stall's door right from its hinges. As the door exploded into a shower of sharp debris, Snape and Hermione gasped at the sight of Rhiannon being manhandled by the writhing mass of tentacles.

"What's going on?" Ron called from the door, not entirely sure what was happening but knowing the situation to be dire as _Professor Snape gasped._

"Professor, do something!" Hermione cried.

Snape promptly ignored the two prefects, pointing his wand at the tentacle wrapped around Rhiannon's neck, the Potions Master spoke in his most authoritative-tone: "Diffindo!" His spell severing the appendage with ease.

Rhiannon coughed and sputtered as the tentacle fell away. Sucking in air greedily, she struggled against her live-bindings more earnestly. "Merlin, am I glad to see you, Professor...! And here I was never thinking I would say that." She joked shakily.

Snape's upper lip curled back in a menacing snarl. "Ten points from Ravenclaw!" He commanded before casting the Severing Spell twice more to free Rhiannon's hands.

Hermione came to Snape's aide, reciting spells of her own to free one of Rhiannon's legs.

The older witch's eyes lit up with a mixture of exhilaration and relief before shutting abruptly as Rhiannon fell; with the monster no longer supporting her weight, gravity pulled her back to Earth.

"Ouch!" Rhiannon cried out; her body aching for a whole other reason than fatigue having impacted so hard with the porcelain toilet. The tentacles wriggled beneath her, not at all enjoying the feeling of being crushed. The ones wrapped around her body retracted then, slithering underneath her body and retreating back into the toilet.

Rhiannon could have cried in relief when all the slippery appendages went away; standing slowly, she swayed on her feet and bumped into the stall's wall. If not for Hermione rushing to her side, she would have fallen.

"Are you okay?" The bushy-haired witch asked, holding on tight to Rhiannon's midsection as she moved to help the other out of the stall.

Rhiannon nodded meekly. "I think so..."

Snape surveyed Rhiannon with an unyielding expression before turning to Ron. "You, go Fetch Madam Pomfrey! Ms. MacIntyre is in need of her."

The Weasely jumped at being addressed but complied with the order nonetheless.

"Can you walk?" Hermione asked gently.

Rhiannon nodded once again before freeing herself from Hermione's hold; all of a sudden, she was embarrassed by the close proximity to the other girl. "It was just a heavy-petting session: nothing too serious, I don't think." She joked before remembering Snape's presence.

Blushing, the witch hastily pulled her stretched blouse over her exposed brassiere.

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Rhiannon felt... ashamed. Mortified at not being able to defend herself against her sister's dastardly creation as a sixth-year who was no stranger to Conjuration? Humiliated by Snape's dark, penetrating stare sweep over her disheveled and debauched form? But most of all, furious that though her spells did little else than agitate the monster; Hermione's actually helped defeat it. Hermione the Muggle-born; Hermione the know-it-all fifth-year—relief at being rescued became tainted by a bitter sense of outrage that swept through her.

Wrinkling her nose as she fought back feelings of violation and offense, Rhiannon turned to Snape. "W-what about that... that _thing. _It's still alive isn't it?"

The Potions Master cleared his throat, unfastening his cloak to drape it over Rhiannon's trembling shoulders begrudgingly. "I shall see to it that it is taken care of. Ms. Granger, escort Ms. MacIntyre to the hallway."

Hermione nodded before doing as she was told. Despite not wanting to comply, Rhiannon let herself be led from the bathroom by Hermione without a fight.

In the hallway, the Ravenclaw leant heavily against the wall; face buried in her hands to block out the prying looks of passing students.

"It'll be okay." Hermione assured. "Ron'll be here in just a minute and we'll both go to Pomfrey's office together."

Rhiannon muttered dark words regarding her sister—vows to take revenge, of course—before springing up and waving Hermione off. "As I said, I'm fine." She insisted with a forced smile, tugging Snape's cloak tighter around herself to conceal her ruined uniform. "No need to worry, I've been through worse... well, not _'worse' _worse, but you get what I mean..."

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "You have to see Madam Pomfrey, Ann. You fell hard. And that _thing_…"

"And I will, but I'm telling you that I'm fine!" Rhiannon snapped.

Hermione was taken aback. "Why're you getting all defensive!?"

"I'm not! Why're you pretending to care so much about me? We aren't even friends; I don't need you trying to mollycoddle me!" Rhiannon countered, face reddening with rage. Possessed by feelings of scorn and mortification, she was too far gone to remember her manners; to remember that she and Hermione had long since reconciled their differences.

"What? Where's this coming from?" Hermione looked confused. Reaching out, she grabbed for Rhiannon's shoulder but only managed to grab Snape's cloak instead. The cool fabric slipped and slid in her grip but she would not let it go. "Ann, talk to me." She said tugging on the silky fabric in her grasp.

"Leave me alone!" The other witch cried; snatching away from Hermione abruptly and not even caring that Snape's cloak was pulled off her at the quick movement. "Tell Ron not to even bother and Madam Pomfrey I'm sorry he wasted her time." She stormed off afterwards, leaving Hermione and the surrounding students to gape. Just before she disappeared from sight, Ron returned with the Matron and Professor Umbridge; who, despite not being told directly about the incident, had heard of it and rushed over.

"Which way did she go?" Pomfrey asked curtly.

Hermione pointed in the direction; too stunned for words. Umbridge gave her a look before ordering Ron and Hermione to class. When the women were gone, Ron cast a perplexed look at Hermione. "Is Ann alright?"

At being addressed by the redhead, Hermione felt her own temper flare. Memories of years-past were brought to the forefront of her mind of being teased and insulted by the infinitely more devious Rhiannon of before their armistice. Hands balling into fists at recollections of Rhiannon's bitterness toward her in the first-year and hate in the second, Hermione growled: "Oh, never mind her! As if I care!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: Oh, my gosh... I don't know how to thank you all for reading and reviewing and favoriting and alerting this story! I especially don't know how to thank the reader who added this story to their community! Thank you so much, everyone, I'm eternally grateful. I mean, I really couldn't ask for anymore than the knowledge that someone is enjoying this. **

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**"Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."  
**_― Martin Luther King, Jr._

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Hermione wasn't in a good mood in the slightest after her falling out with Rhiannon. Sitting at the Gryffindor table after class alongside Harry and Ron, she picked at her food agitatedly and listened to her friends chat fervently but quietly about the Gryffindor's petitioning Umbridge for the 'privilege' to play Quidditch. As many times as she was asked her opinion on the matter, no matter how many times the others paused for Hermione to add in her own outraged response, the bushy-haired witch could only stab her fork into her mashed potatoes and sulk.

Her friendship with Rhiannon, though not the most perfect, seeing as they both had friends and schedules that were drastically, was something Hermione valued. Rhiannon was clever as a Ravenclaw should be; loyal to a fault; and just like her troublemaking sister, she was never dull. Back in their earlier days, when Rhiannon was very much classist and her young-age made her cruel; those same traits made the Ravenclaw a formidable foe. Especially since the older witch had a year on Hermione, her greater experience meaning for more chaos.

It had come as a relief to Hermione in her second-year that, after she had be petrified, Rhiannon had laid off her own attacks for the rest of her year, settling for dirty looks and insults because apparently the pureblood had had too much heart to do more than row with Hermione anymore.

The bickering and the rivalry didn't arrest until the end of third-year, Hermione hadn't any clue why, but she had run into Rhiannon in the library and the older girl was… different. Her smile not quite reaching her eyes, she had joked offhandedly about Divination—which made Hermione laugh awkwardly—before brushing past Hermione with the book she had come for.

It was uncomfortable; like meeting a distant elderly relative with no concept of personal space and a strong odor of medicine and mothballs—like meeting for the first time all over again.

They didn't see each other much throughout the semester aside from meeting in the library but somehow it was enough. These short meetings and brusque conversations minimized the awkwardness of trying to converse without any knowledge of the other person; each tidbit of information on the other obtained through these rendezvous helped to ease the gawkiness as Rhiannon and Hermione rediscovered one another.

Theirs wasn't an unbreakable bond like her friendships with Harry and Ron, nor was it a friendship based on any real joint interest, but Hermione cherished it nevertheless.

Which is why, when Ron offhandedly mentioned Rhiannon during their conversation, Hermione nearly bent her fork.

"Ann has already gone to Umbridge to see if they can play but until she gets a passing grade in Potions, the only way Ravenclaw's going to play is if someone else is team Captain." Ron supplied between mouthfuls of his lunch.

"So basically there's going to be no Quidditch this year, then?" Harry deadpanned, reaching over the table to steal a cooling bread roll.

"The Slytherins will." Ron quipped.

Their conversation became nothing more than an aggravating hum in Hermione's ears as she dropped her fork onto the table. Appetite no longer salvageable, Hermione was ready to take off for her sanctuary: the library. Not wishing to be any ruder than she had already been, however; Hermione excused herself through gritted teeth. "I want to do some reading before class. I'll see you two later." Despite the confused looks she received from her friends, Hermione quickly collected her things before taking off.

With a mouthful of food, Harry watched Hermione's retreating back. "Hermione!?" He called out before he turned then to look at Ron. "What's her problem?"

Ron managed to shrug through his bafflement. "She and Ann are fighting again, I think… Hermione practically bit my head off when I asked her about it." Ron looked wounded as he recalled the venom Hermione had spewed at him on the way to class.

Harry frowned before draining his glass of pumpkin juice. "Shouldn't we should go after her, then?"

"You can go get yelled at if you want to. I've had my fill of angry screeching for one day." Ron said bitterly, pushing his plate away after satiating his hunger.

Harry stood, pulling his schoolbag over his shoulder before leaving after Hermione.

* * *

Rhiannon wasn't pleased in the slightest at being caught up to and dragged to the infirmary wing. The examination that followed her arrival riling her up even more as it was little more than a waste of time. Pomprey's potions and spells burned and irritated the purple bruises Rhiannon sustained in the midst of her struggle with 'Nyarlathotep' and her fall.

After a stern talking to from Madam Pomfrey about being more careful next time, Rhiannon was then escorted to Umbridge's office.

Sinking awkwardly into one of the Headmistress' plush armchairs, the witch straightened her rumpled skirt out across her legs. Thankfully, her uniform had been replaced with one in a better condition after her visit with Pomfrey, or else Rhiannon wasn't sure she could sit in Umbridge's office as indifferently as she did.

The headmistress paced the floor momentarily before taking a seat behind her desk and skimming through a nearly filed stack of paper which sat upon it. From the angle she was at, Rhiannon could almost barely make out that these documents were opened, unsent letters from students to their parents. _"Ms. MacIntyre," _

Her eyes snapped up at the sound of Umbridge's voice.

"As you know, Hogwarts is an esteemed institute of learning. Many great witches and wizards attended this school and turned about to be most successful..." Umbridge informed; her usual sing-song voice hardened around the edges with the hint of authority. "And as long as we're to uphold Hogwarts' good reputation, we cannot allow incidents such as these to happen again."

Rhiannon tried to look apathetic even though she felt her throat grow dry. Shifting uncomfortably atop posh, over-soft cushions, her earlier feelings of offense faded as a feeling of intimidation seized her like a too-tight embrace from Hagrid.

"Relax, child, you aren't in any trouble." Umbridge assured matronly, discerning Rhiannon's discomfort in her body language though the Ravenclaw tried not to readily show it. "The perpetrator, however, is going to pay dearly for their misdeeds!"

Rhiannon startled at the sudden change in Umbridge's tone. Gripping the arms of her lounger suddenly, the witch sat back into the lush cushion of the chair. "What do you mean? How so?"

"Why, I'm going to expel them, of course, Ms. MacIntyre." Umbridge answered plainly, beady eyes lit up with a sort of sadistic glee at the notion of expulsion. "All I need is their name and house, which is why you're here—and I'm sure you're eager for them to be brought to justice, are you not?" The unreadable expression the headmistress wore made Rhiannon's stomach do nervous flips.

Wringing her hands against the armrests, the witch tried to fight the frown that tugged at the corners of her mouth. If she told Professor Umbridge that it was Keira's doing, her sister would surely be expelled; and while the lack of baby-sitting duties would free up Rhiannon's timetable, this was her sister for crying out loud! The third-year might have been the very definition of a little terror but if Rhiannon could trust people who were worse to have her back during a bout of Quidditch, why should she hang her sister out to dry?

Conversely, if she didn't tell, Keira would never be punished for her actions and would continue her reign of discord.

Squirming under Umbridge's gaze, Rhiannon couldn't keep the squeak out of her voice. "I am… but—"

"But what, Ms. MacIntyre!?" Umbridge's face became all the more severe as she leant back in her chair and folded her hands neatly across her desk. "Surely you couldn't be defending them?"

"I'm not—it's just… it was a simple spell; probably even an accident!" Rhiannon disputed.

"Hardly so! Conjuration is a difficult practice! No one would or could just _accidently_ do it!" Umbridge shot back. "Transfiguration in all its forms is a dangerous sort of magic! If Professor McGonagall is teaching them properly, they would know not to go hexing toilets and other foul deeds of that nature...!" Leaning forward to keep eye-contact with Rhiannon as the younger witch's face twitched in an effort to school her features, Umbridge raised an eyebrow. "Unless, you're saying that the Professor isn't doing her job as she should be, and that I should call her up here to sack her for not teaching her students the most basic of principles?"

"No! Not at all!" Rhiannon cried; jerking forward involuntarily with her outburst, she almost butted heads with the headmistress. Remembering herself she sat back and apologized thereafter. "It's just... I don't want to get them in trouble..."

"Tsk, tsk… is that so?" was Umbridge's menacing response. "What a Good Samaritan you are, Ms. McIntyre. To keep a fellow student from getting in trouble, you would allow yourself to be expelled in their place—even though you haven't done anything wrong. I commend that."

Rhiannon's blood ran cold in her veins. "You wouldn't!" She baulked.

"Oh, but I would. Aiding and abetting a criminal is an offense, too, Ms. MacIntyre" Umbridge smirked. "So, what shall it be? I personally would hate to see you go. You have such promise: pretty, charismatic and a gifted Quidditch player on top of all that... all wasted because you want to help someone who is clearly beyond it." Clicking her tongue, she added: "And your parents, they shall be furious when they hear the news. Young Keira MacIntyre, all by herself in Hogwarts because her sister was expelled; oh, whatever shall that poor girl do all alone? She's a dreadful witch, after all."

Rhiannon trembled with anxiety and rage; gripped with the sudden urge to throw herself over the table and beat that smug grin off of Umbridge's pudgy, wrinkled face.

This woman... _she was quite a piece of work!_ No wonder the Ministry chose her; she was clearly unafraid to punish students: guilty or otherwise!

Face flushing a deep shade of crimson, Rhiannon dropped her hands to her lap where she balled them discreetly into fists. "Keira's learning at her own pace."

"Hew, hew, hew." Umbridge laughed mockingly with a hand pressed to her lips in a show of modesty. "We had a name for students who learned at their own pace back when I was in school... it wasn't very nice."

Rhiannon gritted her teeth. "What do you want? What do you plan to accomplish by making me mad!?"

Umbridge went from humored to deathly-serious in a second flat. "I want the name of the person who caused such chaos in my school and I want it now, or else I shall be forced to punish you!"

"But I haven't done anything!" Rhiannon cried, jumping to her feet.

Umbridge clasped her hands together, looking utterly pleased with herself. "Then I see no reason why we are still having this decision. Now why don't tell me who it was, or else I will _make _you do so. I can have Snape put together a Veritaserum—"

"You wouldn't... my parents would never allow it!" Rhiannon shouted, taking a step back and forcing the chair behind her to grind across the floor as she moved.

Umbridge looked taken aback for the moment at Rhiannon's outburst before a wicked smile spread out across her face. "A suspected death-eater and a disgraced pureblood, I'm quaking in my boots. Sit down, Ms. MacIntyre." When Rhiannon pointedly refused, the headmistress smiled before forcing her to do so with a swish of her wand. "There's no need to make this so difficult; who was it that hexed the toilet?"

Rhiannon, practically stuck to the chair now, struggled for a long moment before finally conceding under the headmistress' gleeful stare. "I... I did it." She lied; eyes cast to the floor as she hoped that she sounded convincing enough.

Umbridge rolled her eyes before standing. "I have had enough of this. I will give you one more chance to tell me the truth or you, and you alone, will face expulsion."

Rhiannon opened her mouth to repeat herself when the door to Umbridge's office was thrown open. The room's two occupants jumped, the tension in the air dispelled as quickly as it had come as the door slammed against the wall. Unfazed by the noise was Draco and his goons as they pushed Keira into the room.

The teen stumbled; her wand flying from her hand and rolling under one of Umbridge's bookshelves as she lost her grip of it.

Crying out in rage at losing her wand, Keira turned to spit fire at Crabbe only to have Goyle shove her towards Umbridge's desk. Stubbing her toe of the Headmistress' thick carpet, the witch tumbled and narrowly avoided thumping her head on the high back of Rhiannon's chair. "Oof!" She cried, almost comically, as she hit the floor.

"What is the meaning of this, Mr. Malfoy!?" Umbridge cried hand pressed to the center of her chest as she took in heaving breathes. Clearly taken aback by the events playing out before her, she glanced between Keira sprawled out on the floor and the self-satisfied expressions on the Slytherins' faces.

Draco sneered as he was quite proud of himself. Even despite the scalding glare he received from Rhiannon when she realized what he was about to do, the Slytherin puffed out his chest. "She's the one who put the hex on the toilet." Draco accused, pointing to Keira as she struggled to stand. "We caught her red-handed trying to do the same to the boy's toilet!"

"Did not!" Keira denied vehemently, stumbling when she got to her feet as the world slammed back into focus before her eyes. Blinking, she tried not to sway. "They're lying! I would never go into the boys' bathroom, Headmistress. I swear!" Keira squealed, turning to Umbridge.

What she was met with, instead of a matronly Headmistress, was a side of Umbridge she hadn't seen before. Umbridge looked wickedly delighted; like a portly toad on a fly-fishing trip.

Turning to Rhiannon for help and seeing the look of accusation written in bold letters on her face, Keira knew already that she might as well start packing; she was as good as gone.

Tears welled in her eyes and Keira was powerless to stop them from falling.

"My, my... what a dramatic turn of events. As it would turn out, the squib was the hexer, after all?" Umbridge cooed. "Thank you, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. I shall see to it that Ms. MacIntyre is taken care of." Waving the three off, the Headmistress waited until the door closed behind the snickering Slytherins before she rounded her desk and approached Keira with a smirk on her painted lips. "Now... hmm... I simply don't know what to do with you: punish you for improper use of magic, or expel you outright...? Oh! Decisions, decisions!"

"Wait!" Rhiannon interjected, writhing against the spell that forced her to remain seated. "Please, Headmistress, don't—it's my fault!"

Umbridge snorted. "That's enough from you, _Liar_!" Casting a silencing charm on Rhiannon to keep from her interrupting any more, the Headmistress turned her grave stare unto Keira. "As you already know, Ms. MacIntyre, I do not enjoy punishing you students..." Umbridge was clearly lying, which made Keira's eyes water all the more. "I understand that you want to do is have fun but this isn't a playground, it is a Wizarding School; not a place for fun and games, but of learning!" She scolded Keira, undeterred by the girl's overflowing tears or broken sobs. "Do you understand the trouble I could get into if a student were to injure another?"

Keira nodded. "Y-yes... I'm s-sorry, Headmistress... I just—"

"You just what?" Umbridge spoke when Keira failed to. "You just thought it would be funny? Well, look at your poor sister; does Rhiannon look like she's having fun?"

"N-no..." Keira hiccupped miserably.

Umbridge shook her head dismissively. "No, she isn't. None of us are. This is a serious matter, young lady. What if your sister or another student had gotten hurt? You are very lucky that Rhiannon was only shaken up."

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen! I just—I wanted to im-impress Professor Snape." Keira admitted; her voice shaky as she trembled with grief.

Umbridge clicked her teeth admonishingly. "Young women, in my time, when they wanted to sway a teacher, used to bring him apples or write him frilly little notes; not endanger the entire student body!"

Keira's face turned redder than Umbridge thought possible. Bowing her head, she hiccupped but said nothing else.

"It seems now you understand the severity of your actions." Umbridge noted, reaching out to clasp Keira's chin with her thumb and forefinger. Tilting the witch's head back so she could peer into her classy eyes, Umbridge smiled when Keira didn't jerk away.

Keira sniffled. "Will I be kicked out of school?" She asked when her voice finally allowed.

Umbridge let the younger witch's question hang in the air for a few long and tense moments before grinning. "Initially, I was going to expel you without question..." Glancing over to Rhiannon and seeing the older Ravenclaw girl glaring daggers, Umbridge's smirk widened until her face looked on the verge of tearing in half. "But now that I have you here and see that most pitiful look on your face... I think I have another punishment in mind."

Releasing Keira from her grip, Umbridge began toddling back around her desk where the Headmistress unlocked a drawer nearest to the bottom and retrieved a harmless-looking quill. "If you are able to write me a five hundred word essay on the importance of Uniformity and Discipline, I will let you remain at my school." Motioning Keira over, Umbridge handed the quill to her. "You have until bedtime; I will excuse you from the rest of your classes. Will you accept this punishment or shall I write to Mr. and Mrs. MacIntyre about your early arrival home?"

Keira, breathing hard as she wiped tears from her eyes, took the quill from Umbridge's pudgy hand. Casting an apologetic glance to her silenced sister, the young witch let Umbridge guide her to the empty chair beside Rhiannon, where Keira was given a long roll of parchment to write on.

"I expect your work to be free of typos and such." Umbridge informed before returning to her seat.

Keira nodded, sniffling once more before raising quill to parchment. "Wait... there's no ink?" She observed with a shakily inhale.

Umbridge slipped on a pair of reading glasses before idly responding: "It's not that kind of quill, my dear. Now, hurry up, you're burning daylight."

A heavy weight of foreboding settled into the pit of Keira's stomach, not knowing why she looked to Rhiannon one more time before she began to write. It didn't take long for Keira to realize why she was so afraid as the reason made itself known in the form of pure agony as the flesh on the back of her hand was torn open; the words she attempted to scrawl across her oxidized writing-space craving themselves into her skin.

A bloodcurdling shriek freed itself from her mouth as Keira dropped the quill onto the desk to nurse her wounded hand; blood, red as a jewel, pouring from the deep gashes and staining the paper below.

"Ah, ah, ah... No breaks. Pick that quill up and write or you are as good as expelled!" Umbridge threatened, barely taking her eyes off her report as she spoke.

Keira wailed. "B-But—!"

"Your dear sister has worn my patience quite thin, so you'd better start writing now _or else_." Umbridge interrupted coldly.

Keira whimpered, biting her lip as she hesitantly picked the quill back up and began to write. Gasping and shuddering as the pain climbed with each letter torn into her tender flesh, the witch could scarcely see through wave after wave of tears that obscured her vision.

Rhiannon, though rendered completely silent and still, screamed internally in anger. Just who the hell did this woman think she was!? This was abuse; both of her power and of the student-body! To think that others may have been subjected to this cruel form of punishment made the Ravenclaw's insides twist with a dark, violent loathing.

* * *

Harry caught up to Hermione in the library, where the prefect was ripping books from the sooty shelves and dropping them onto her chosen table almost loud enough to bring Madam Pince around. Reflexively, Harry clutched his shoulder bag against his side to keep the contents within from making any undue noise as he cautiously approached the furious witch. Watching Hermione snatch open a grubby tome—the title, almost unintelligible underneath layers of grit and grime, was familiar; from the list of recommended reads for the O.W.L McGonagall gave them, Harry reckoned—the boy-who-lived sighed. "Hermione," Harry started; mindful of the volume of his voice.

The prefect slammed the book closed, unfazed by the dust that evacuated the old book and into the stale air around her. Whipping around at being called upon, she turned her narrowed eyes onto Harry and at seeing him, her expression softened. Gripping the book like a lifeline, she tried to smile. "Oh, it's just you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Clearly, Hermione had been expecting someone: Rhiannon, no doubt? Watching the aggression bleed from the bushy-haired witch's posture as she dropped her book onto the table, atop a growing stack of tomes just as old and sooty as it, Harry wasn't sure whether Hermione was actually ready to see the Ravenclaw yet. Not if they were ever going to makeup and become mates again, at least. "Have you come to study for the O.W.L?" She asked in an attempt to make polite conversation.

"I reckon you know why I'm here, Hermione." Harry replied vaguely. Pulling his rucksack off his shoulder, Harry dumped it into a nearby chair before pulling a different one out to sit on. "What's up with you? Why'd you go storming off?" He asked, effectively assuming the role of the concerned friend.

Hermione shrugged, turning back to the bookshelf. "I didn't storm off. I told you guys I was coming here, didn't I?" She sounded cross still but nowhere near as much as she had before. Harry took this as a sign to probe.

"Okay, so this has nothing to do with you and Rhiannon rowing again?" Harry questioned.

Hermione spun around again, face twisted in rage; she slammed her hands on the table and leant forward into Harry's personal space. He could feel her panting breathes against his forehead as she regarded him with angry eyes. "Did Ron tell you that? Oh, that traitorous prat. I'm going to wring his neck the first chance I get!"

Harry jerked his head back when Hermione got into his space, more so when she barked at him. Scooting back in his chair, he stood and put his hands on Hermione's shoulders soothingly. Though she remained tense in his grasp, Hermione regained her composure before seating herself across from Harry. Picking at her nails, she apologized for her outburst.

"So, it's true?" Harry asked.

"Yes… no… well—ugh, this is why I didn't want Ron running around telling everyone." Hermione fretted as she combed her fingers through her coarse brown hair in distress.

"What happened then? I mean, I know about the hexed toilet thing—but I don't get why you two are suddenly arch-nemeses again, all of a sudden." Harry said with a shrug.

"We aren't arch-nemeses… we aren't even fighting, really. Well, I don't think. It's just—when Professor Snape and I saved her, initially, she was thankful. Joking as usual, even despite what had just happened… but then—I don't know why—she got short with me." Hermione frowned then. Leaning back in her chair, she folded her arms across her chest. "Shouting at me when all I was trying to do but help. All of a sudden, it was the second-year again and she was back to being a bigot who couldn't be bothered to be in the presence of _the likes of me_." Emphasizing the last part of her statement with air quotes, Hermione's brows knitted together angrily. "I don't even know why I thought she could change. All those bloody purebloods are just the same; self-entitled, boorish extremists!"

Harry shushed Hermione at the sound of Madam Pince's approaching footsteps but it was too late. The librarian reared her head and the two Gryffindors were already gathering their things before she demanded them out screeching like a cross vulture.

* * *

Too tired to struggle anymore, Rhiannon panted and cursed Professor Umbridge with all her remaining energy. As soon as she was freed, Rhiannon swore that she would inflict as much pain on the Headmistress as she possibly could before someone showed up to arrest her.

And if it was possible, Rhiannon would beat the shit out of the sniveling Draco Malfoy, too!

Trying not to focus too hard on Keira's screams as she was powerless to help her, Rhiannon clenched her eyes shut and began counting the seconds until they were free to go.

"Nuh-ah-ah, Ms. MacIntyre," Professor Umbridge cooed, startling Rhiannon back to the moment at hand with a harmless spell. "This is your punishment—you have to watch. Unless you would like another?"

Gasping inaudibly as the chair shifted around beneath her so that Rhiannon was now facing Keira, the Ravenclaw flinched when more and more blood gushed from her sister's hand. The sight made her queasy; this surprised Rhiannon, as she was squeamish by no means.

* * *

Hermione and Harry talked—more like the former complained about Rhiannon ceaselessly—until it was time for class again. Shrugging her cumbersome book bag onto her shoulder and visibly sagging as the great weight of it took its toll immediately, the prefect bid Harry farewell and turned to leave—only to remember something at the last minute. "Oh, Harry… I forgot. If you get the chance, give this back to Ann. She's going to need it if today marks the end of our ceasefire." Holding out the older girl's wand to Harry, Hermione's brown eyes twinkled with a dangerous promise.

Harry took it hesitantly. "What do you mean?" The impish look on Hermione's face was all the answer Harry needed. Tucking Rhiannon's wand into the fold of his robe awkwardly, the boy-who-lived waved good-bye before heading to his own lesson.

* * *

Time seemed to crawl as if some sort of spell had been employed to keep them there as long as possible, but eventually it grew dark outside and the castle around them grew quiet as all activity ceased. Rhiannon, by then, was so sore from having sat upright all day that she practically fell out the chair when Umbridge released her. Stiff and pained, the Ravenclaw could only lay sprawled out against the carpeted floor.

"This report was splendid! Quite marvelous, I should say. Your grasp of the English language is fantastic. Surely, you've thought about authoring?" Umbridge all but sang as she read over Keira's report. The red words neatly written across the page glittered in the light like a macabre ink.

The young witch was meek; visibly weakened by the ordeal as she curled in on herself in her seat to appear smaller. Nursing her hand against her chest—which, despite Umbridge's use of basic healing spells to mend the torn skin, still bore many bleeding cuts from the punishment passed—Keira sniffled.

"N-no, I haven't..." She replied.

"Well you should. You're an excellent writer, my dear..." Umbridge complimented.

Rhiannon, feeling numb—as though she had slipped into the Twilight Zone—stood shakily and grabbed Keira by her frail shoulder. Yanking the younger Ravenclaw from her chair and to her feet, Rhiannon pulled her sister into a tight, apologetic embrace that brought tears afresh to Keira's eyes. When they broke apart, Rhiannon motioned to a nearby bookshelf. "Get your wand, we're leaving." She commanded.

Umbridge laughed heartily in response. "You don't want to stay for tea, Ms. MacIntyre?"

Rhiannon shot a heated glare at the Headmistress before turning to watch Keira clumsily dive to the floor to reach under the bookshelf her wand rolled under. "No, we have class in the morning." She informed begrudgingly.

The Headmistress' eyes lit up. "Ah, I see... what model students you two have suddenly become. I guess my punishment worked, after all!"

Rhiannon grinded her teeth. "I won't let you get away with this—"

"What are you going to do, hm? As I have told everyone before you: _it's my word against yours'. Who do you think they'll believe?_" Umbridge probed. Approaching Rhiannon as the witch hesitantly took a few steps backwards, the Headmistress smirked. "You're a smart girl, don't waste our time."

Keira reappeared then, half-crouched behind one of the Umbridge's chairs with wand in hand. "G-got it." She supplied shakily.

Rhiannon growled before turning on her heel and beckoning Keira to follow. "Then we've no reason to be here. Let's go." Advancing on the door with long strides, the two Ravenclaws bristled when Umbridge cleared her throat.

_"Hem, Hem..."_

Rhiannon threw a dirty look over her shoulder. Barely keeping the rage from her voice, she snapped: "Yes, what is!?"

"Our 'Girl-talk' stays between us, is that understood?" Umbridge spoke with unfettered amusement; amusement that only increased when she saw how violent Rhiannon's trembling had become. The older teen must have been really angry; Umbridge was beside herself with delight knowing this. As the sisters nodded slowly, the Headmistress smiled. "Well, as long as you two behave, you should never have to come see me again. Good night, Girls."

Rhiannon slammed the door on the way out.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/n: Urgh, severe lack of motivation is making me lazy. This chapter should've definitely had more than a girl-talk... **

* * *

In the safety of the Ravenclaw tower, Keira threw herself on her bed and cried herself to sleep; so inconsolable that it broke Rhiannon's heart. Unsure now why she was even angry at her sister in the first place, Rhiannon flopped onto her own bed after replacing her skirt with a fitting pair of leggings and nuzzled her face against her pillow like an angry cat.

Pressing her face into the soft sham covering her pillow, Rhiannon screamed angrily; too dry and furious to produce any more tears.

"What's up with you, Annie?" Came the inquisitive voice of her friend and fellow sixth-year, Ingrid Templeton, from somewhere in the corner of the room.

Rhiannon sat up abruptly to shoot a withering glare at the other girl. Beyond irate, she shouted across the room: "Nothing! Absolutely nothing is wrong!"

"Hey, hey, hey... cool it wil ya'? People are tryin'a sleep!" Another Ravenclaw complained as she snatched closed the long dark blue tapestry hanging from her bedpost to shut out the conversing witches.

Ingrid, though tired, climbed out of her bed to amble over to Rhiannon's. Sitting heavily on the edge of her friend's bed, Ingrid reached out to run her fingers through the other's thick hair. "Is this about the bathroom thing?" She asked softly.

Rhiannon felt a little calmer as Ingrid's fingernails scraped soothingly against her scalp, but even then she was almost too mad for words. Nestling her face deeper into her pillow, she debated whether or not she should tell her friend the truth. When she remembered what Umbridge said about keeping what happened between the three of them, however, Rhiannon only steamed more.

Feeling Ingrid's fingers worrying at pleasure-spot at the crown of her head, Rhiannon sighed. She was giving her best-friend the cold shoulder and the other girl didn't even know why; if she couldn't give Ingrid the truth, the least Rhiannon could do was talk to her.

Sighing heavily, Rhiannon rolled onto her back and startled at Ingrid's shockingly bright fuchsia-colored hair. "What happened to your hair!?" Rhiannon gasped.

Ingrid smiled, lifting her free hand to tease the ends of her tightly-curled fringe between her thumb and forefinger. "Oh, you mean this?" She asked coyly. "Professor Snape did it in class. Not on purpose, though." She clarified. "The sod blew my potion sky-high and since I was sitting so close to it: BAM!" Turning her head to the side reveal how her hair went from hot-pink in the front to blonde in the back in an ombre-esque effect, she grinned. "I was right pissed when it happened but after sleeping on it... I kinda like it."

Rhiannon grimaced at the bright colors; not at all sharing Ingrid's sentiments. "Uh-huh... why didn't he change it back?" She said slowly.

Ingrid shrugged dismissively. "Enough about me... I wanna know what's got you so cross?" She asked, scooting backwards on the bed so that her legs were hanging off the side.

"Hermione's apparently not acknowledging me in the hallways, so I guess it's safe to assume that she's got something to do with this?"

Rhiannon rolled her eyes, sitting up against the headboard and resting her head on her knees. Anger almost completely dissipated, at the mention of her on-again-off-again friend, Rhiannon felt guilt settle into her stomach. She had yelled at her earlier without provocation; the other girl was probably livid.

Thinking with a clear-head, Rhiannon couldn't blame Hermione if she never wanted to talk to her again. To the prefect, Rhiannon had lapsed back to being the pureblood that was too good for some muggle-born's help. And as much as Rhiannon wanted to argue otherwise, it was true; it was all Rhiannon was thinking at the time. Despite knowing just how skilled Hermione was, just how clever; Rhiannon was disgusted at how _she_ couldn't help herself but Hermione could.

Her stomach did flips as she realized then that her prejudices still remained; so deep-rooted in her philosophical views from being brought up in her sheltered, stuffily-highborn household.

Remembering the extent of her harassment and how despite the alarming levels of cruelty, Rhiannon had thought it was all fun and games.

Because Hermione wasn't like her, she deserved it.

Except, that wasn't true, she didn't deserve not one ounce of Rhiannon's vindictive behavior. Not then and certainly not now. All she ever tried to do was help.

Back when they had first met in the library and Hermione had reached for the same book as Rhiannon, the bushy-haired witch offered to let Rhiannon take it instead, informing the older witch that she had only meant to peruse through the tome because she had gotten bored.

A polite gesture to anyone else and it made Rhiannon's temper flare. The book was required reading material for the then-second-year's class and here Hermione was looking to check it out—for light reading? Rhiannon had been furious as she wondered, "_just who did this muggle-born think she was?"_

Hermione had looked so hurt when Rhiannon had yelled at her, snatching the book from the younger witch's grasp as she spouted off about… things Rhiannon would rather not think about… things that got her detention for a month.

Rubbing her cheek against the scratchy fabric of her leggings, Rhiannon closed her eyes. "She'll talk to you again once she cools off. I, however, am in the dog house forever."

Ingrid frowned. Reaching out, she squeezed Rhiannon's foot. "Ah, geez, what happened—you didn't call her_... a mudblood... _did you?" The blonde whispered the offensive slur as not to be overheard by any of the other students.

Rhiannon's cheeks turned red with indignation and embarrassment. Her pride demanded she blame Hermione for everything. Opening her eyes and suddenly finding the intricate, floral design in her nylons to be the most interesting thing in the world, Rhiannon said heavily. "Hermione... well, I just think she blew things way out of proportion and I got fed up."

Ingrid pursed her lips. "_Fed up?_ Because she wanted to help? Merlin, that's... totally like you. Earth to Rhiannon: Hermione's just doing as she was supposed to—as a person and a prefect. I'm sure I would be fussing over someone after seeing Cthulhu almost get third base with them. I mean, really, I don't see how anyone couldn't blow something like that out of proportion!"

Rhiannon frowned. "Really, it wasn't that bad. I've had boyfriends before, it's not like I haven't been roughed up a little…"

Ingrid yawned against the back of her hand. "Oh, right... didn't you date that big Slytherin guy in the third year?"

Rhiannon ducked behind her knees, her face flushing a deep shade of red. _Dating_ isn't exactly the word she would use to describe what she did with Flint.

"Well, even so, you ought to apologize to Hermione. I'd hate to see you two fighting again. You were so nasty to her back in the day." Ingrid sounded plaintive. "I'm surprised you even thought to become my friend, even though I'm a muggle-born too." Ingrid said with a tug of her worn, hand-me-down 'Beatles' t-shirt.

Rhiannon squirmed. Noticing how the other girl had grown uncomfortable, Ingrid reclined across the taller girl's feet and sighed tiredly. "Whatever happened to that Flint-guy you were dating, anyway?"

Rhiannon shrugged uneasily. "He _finally _graduated, remember?"

"Really? I didn't think he was smart enough to do that." Ingrid rolled onto her stomach. "Actually, that reminds me... why did you start dating him in the first place? No offense, but he looked like a troll, had the worst teeth I'd ever seen, and was a right prick." Winding her hands in the coverlet beneath them, she continued: "He wasn't your type at all."

"And just what is my_ type_? I wasn't raised in a household where muggle musicians were worshiped like gods; all I had was stuffy old men in sooty old books." Rhiannon groused, flustered beyond-belief.

"Ha, no need to say 'Muggle' like it's a bad thing." Ingrid admonished before picking her ear absentmindedly. "But even still, you've got to have a _type_." Ingrid laughed then, climbing up the bed to join Rhiannon in staring at the floral detailing in her's charcoal-black stockings.

Rhiannon chewed her top lip, trying to think of an answer to Ingrid's question. Why did she date Marcus? Aside from Ingrid's listed reasons, Rhiannon and the Slytherin had had nothing in common, other than their love for Qudditch. She only wanted a cuddle or a snog before a match and he wanted full-blown sex. What the hell did she see in him; moreover, what did he see in her? She was an awkward thirteen year old; her only conversation piece being her pureblood heritage.

Unable to recall anything past their bitter-breakup, Rhiannon pouted. "He was... honest, I guess." She replied, sounding distant in her own ears as she wrung her hands.

"Honest? I'm honest and I don't see you trying to get into my pants." Ingrid yawned. "Give me another reason. Was he hung?"

"Ingrid!" Rhiannon shrieked, reaching behind her to claim a pillow to shove in her friend's face. "My sister's in here."

Ingrid rolled her eyes right before getting hit in the face. "Ow! She's probably asleep" The blonde reasoned into the folds of the pillow sham.

Rhiannon barely understood the other girl but responded nonetheless. "I don't care if she was in a coma; don't stay stuff like that around her!"

Ingrid pulled the pillow off her face before casting it angrily to the other bed. "She conjured a tentacle monster from Hell to tickle girls in the lavatory. I'm sure your sister's beyond perverted; I bet she's sweating some poor guy as we speak."

"Shut up, I don't want to think about that." Rhiannon whined, hands covering her ears. Knowing just who this 'poor guy' was made her queasy. Professor Snape... EUGH.

"It's the truth." Ingrid said plainly, sitting up on her elbows. "So, anyway, how was he?"

Rhiannon frowned. "How was who?"

"Marcus!" Ingrid supplied.

"He was okay, I guess... I mean, we didn't date long but even in the short time I figured he was about the biggest twat I'd ever met." Rhiannon replied offhandedly, shrugging out of her dark-gray vest and chucking it to the floor to be forgotten until the morning. Left in only her nylons and her oxford button-up, she was moreorless ready for bed.

"That's not what I meant. I mean, '_How was he in the sack?"_ Ingrid asked eagerly.

Rhiannon jerked away from her friend as if she'd been burned.

_Where did Ingrid get off asking these kinds of personal questions! _Rhiannon thought, right before remembering how she had pressed her friend for all the details of Ingrid's short-lived relationships with a few seventh years in the last semester.

Feeling the blood drain from her face, Rhiannon shook her head. "He was... alright?"

"Alright? C'mon, you need to give me more than that! Did he pull your hair? How many times did you two do it? Did you go down on him!?" Ingrid pressed.

"Eugh, gross! Will you guys stop!?" Marietta Edgecombe shouted from her bed before she shoved a pillow in her face out of exasperation.

Ingrid laughed. "Oooh! Marietta's jealous-of who, I wonder? Rhiannon or Marcus?" Hopping off her friend's bed, the blonde rushed to Marietta's bed when the other Ravenclaw objected.

"Stop it, Templeton, I'm trying to sleep!" Marietta snapped.

Ingrid laughed, diving onto Marietta's bed. "Is that what you're doing? I couldn't tell!"

Rhiannon flushed her deepest shade of crimson yet before grabbing her covers and pulling them over her head. When the clamor of Marietta, Ingrid, and all the other roused Raveclaws died down and Rhiannon was left staring into the darkness that dwelled underneath her covers, the pureblood's mind drifted back to when Ingrid had expressed her genuine surprise about them becoming friends. Her heart ached with a twinge of disappointment. So what? Now the other girl doubted the validity of their friendship?

Shifting uneasily atop her bed, Rhiannon wound her hair around her fingers in nervous habit. Ingrid didn't give her the impression that she was mad at her, so why did Rhiannon feel so bad? Perhaps, it was because at the time she had befriended the blonde, Rhiannon had known for a fact that Ingrid was muggle-born and proud of her heritage. So, from the perspective of Ingrid and Hermione—or anyone else on the outside looking in—it didn't make any sense why the pureblood had chosen to befriend her.

Except, it had made perfect sense to Rhiannon:

At the time, she had virtually no friends; her mother's disgrace made it hard for any purebloods worth their salt to want to talk to her, lest they get tainted by the spoiled Alcott blood that pumped through Rhiannon's veins. That, along with the fact that not many half-blood or muggle-borns wanted to be her friend because of her known distain for anyone not highborn, made for long and lonely days and nights in the company of her family's familiar and her books.

Until she met Ingrid.

They were in all the same classes, in the same house even, and never before had they talked. Rhiannon, though fully aware of the other girl's standing, could never retain her composure in Ingrid's presence for the blonde was much too pretty. The Ingrid of before—much like her older self—was precocious; coquettish, even in her young age.

All golden-blonde hair and fluttering eyelashes, Rhiannon could only stammer in the other girl's presence. And when they were made to duel during a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Rhiannon was more or less smitten by the way Ingrid carried herself with dignity even after she lost.

Equal parts jealous and infatuated, Rhiannon embarked to do more than make Ingrid's acquaintance. And eventually, after they had grown closer, other students had warmed up to Rhiannon-not that she had noticed at the time, following Ingrid like a lovesick puppy all the time.

Rubbing the blush from her cheeks as she remembered the long nights she spent just listening to Ingrid talk, Rhiannon mumbled hotly into the darkness. _"Pull yourself together...! Now's not the time to go digging up the past."_

So, still the question remained: why Ingrid but not Hermione? What was different?

_Ingrid was prettier?_

But Hermione was smarter and Rhiannon valued brains over looks.

_Ingrid was in her house?_

So where a bunch of other wizards and witches that Rhiannon never befriended.

_Because Rhiannon is a pureblood who grew up with governesses, house-elves and all else that money could buy and Hermione was, and is, still a better witch._

Perhaps… back when she was a child, this truth hurt worse than falling off her broom.

Now, it was just something Rhiannon lived with; no longer ashamed because she knew her parents had essentially made her lazy—telling her that her status would aide her during her years in Hogwarts, that all she needed to do was worry about keeping up appearances than actually learning the materials she would be working with as this was lowly work for a pureblood such as herself.

Draco's father must've told him the same thing, for neither he nor Rhiannon could best Hermione's sterling grades.

When her thoughts continued to ceaselessly revolve around Hermione, Rhiannon wriggled her toes against the softness of her seats and pulled the covers slowly from over her head.

Everyone had fallen asleep... perhaps she could sneak down to the kitchens to beg a snack off the house-elves? After all, she hasn't eaten since breakfast.

Reaching over the side of the bed to fish through the messy pile of clothes bedside it, Rhiannon cursed when she couldn't find her wand.

_Shit!_ That's right; she'd lost it in the bathroom.

Visibly deflating with a few choice-swears, Rhiannon flopped back onto her mattress and rolled over agitatedly. So, not only was she feeling out of sorts but she would go to bed hungry as well?

Squeezing her eyes shut and thinking of things completely unrelated to Hermione, school or anyone's heritage by and large, Rhiannon tried to force herself to sleep. When her mind finally settled on the thought of writing to her parents over the weekend and what she might say in her letter, she finally drifted off into a dreamless slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hooray for melodrama. I'm beginning to think that that's all I can write. **

**Yeah, but anyways, I've got a few more chapters ready to be posted so that I can tuck my sick self into bed and become dead to the world for the next 24-48 hours. **

**Thanks in advance! Review if you like it? Reviews are, like, great motivation. Without them, I flat out abandon a story! **

* * *

When the influence of sleep broke at first light, Rhiannon was brought to by a heavy weight pinning her arm and depriving her trapped hand of vital circulation. Flexing her hand to be fully sure that her hand was incapable of being rescued, the pureblood grunted drowsily as her eyes fluttered open and found her vision obscured by a thick, curly tuft of raven-colored hair; hair that she knew to be long and messy, usually worn in ponytails and held back by an assortment of fancy headbands.

Lifting her free hand to brush said tresses from her face, Rhiannon was greeted by the flushed but all the while passive face of her slumbering sister. Keira must've climbed into her bed in the middle of the night. All things considered, Rhiannon wasn't surprised that Keira was, at present, being plagued by nightmares; what amazed her, however, was that Keira had sought her out for comfort. They were not close; Mr. and Mrs. MacIntyre made sure of that. Encouraging the sisters to never express more than a passing interest in each other's studies and interest—and what with their three year age difference exasperated by the visible discrepancy in their placement in Hogwarts and the varying levels of difficult their respective classes offered—Keira and Rhiannon were essentially a little more than acquaintances to each other; acquaintances who shared the same parents, but the point still stands. Which is why Rhiannon thought it was a bit ironic that her parents dually taught them to lie through their teeth if it meant keeping the other from harm.

Rest assured, Rhiannon loved her sister but it was plain to see that they enjoyed the company of their classmates to one another.

Which is why when Keira curled in on herself and nuzzled her head closer to Rhiannon's neck, the pureblood bristled at the contact. She wasn't the type to cuddle nor was she someone's doting teddy-bear. Frowning, Rhiannon wiggled her arm underneath Keira's back in a bid to free it. The younger witch stirred, mumbling something so incomprehensible that she might as well have been speaking another language as she lifted a hand to scratch her cheek.

Rhiannon jerked her head back to keep from being hit by Keira's sluggish hand. "Watch it." She complained involuntarily, though she was aware that Keira couldn't hear her. Clicking her teeth as Keira mumbled something back uselessly; Rhiannon noted the superficial nicks and slashes that still remained on the otherwise smooth skin on the back of Keira's hand. Rhiannon took Keira's hand in her free one and began to closely inspect it. The damaged dermis was red and angry, still irritated even after the elapsed time.

Running the pad of her thumb gently across the raised skin, Rhiannon wondered if Madam Pomfrey's remedies and doting could prevent scarring. Their mother and father wouldn't be pleased if Keira came home with a mutilated hand. Thinking of their parents, Rhiannon wondered if she couldn't find a way to inform them of Keira's condition; of Umbridge's abuse. Her parents hated it when Rhiannon wrote cryptic letters but the pureblood knew that if she wrote plainly, Umbridge would simply intersect her letter en-route and do away with it.

Even so, if they did properly translate her words to be those of distress, would they help?

_Could they help?_

Fuming as she knew Umbridge to be correct in her saying that Mr. and Mrs. MacIntyre bore no clout, Rhiannon finally and begrudgingly pulled her arm from underneath Keira's smaller body.

Cradling her newly freed hand as she tried to regain the feeling in her fingertips, the older witch moved carefully to the edge of her bed and stretched the kinks from her stiff joints. Her bed certainly wasn't made for two; she would have to remind Keira of that if a similar scenario were to arise in the future.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Rhiannon put her bare feet to the cold wooden floor and felt her skin break out with goosebumps. Rubbing her legs through the dark fabric of her nylons, the pureblood glanced up at the sky blue tapestry that hung in front of the closed window, the bronze and silken rope that usually fixed the drapery open hung lazily to the floor. Through the slit betwixt the wall-hangings, Rhiannon was able to make out the sky. It was early; Rhiannon knew, too early to leave the dorm. The sky was deep shade of dark blue; the sun still dormant, like a prima-donna actress waiting for her cue.

It couldn't be any later than four in the morning.

Muffling a yawn in the crook of her elbow, Rhiannon felt all vestiges of sleep drain away only to be replaced by gnawing hunger. Pressing her hands to her stomach testily, she grumbled. Great, it was too early to go to the Great Hall for breakfast and she was even hungrier than she was last night. Feeling more so than hearing her stomach growl, Rhiannon curled inwards on herself and moaned miserably.

Closing her eyes, she tried not to think of food. Not of eggs and bacon with thick slices of toast, not of pudding or porridge, not of―_"this isn't working…" _Rhiannon decided, sitting up abruptly. She had to have some sort of confectionary in her trunk somewhere; after all, she virtually cleaned the sweet-cart out on the trip to Hogwarts.

Creeping quietly to the foot of her bed to rifle through her trunk, Rhiannon found one of her school-robes. The simple black fabric felt good against her skin. Without thinking, Rhiannon wrenched it free from her tousled panty-hose and startled when the cloth unraveled and out from its folds spilled a myriad of miscellaneous things across the floor.

Her belongings clattered noisily against the floor but not even Keira stirred at the sound. Cursing, Rhiannon knelt down to collect her things before they rolled under someone's bed to be lost forever.

Quills, makeup, trinkets from years past and other sundry things of that sort, Rhiannon gathered them with haste, looking up every so often to make sure she didn't disturb anyone.

With an armful of her fugitive possessions, Rhiannon began stuffing them back into her trunk; this time, underneath all her clothes as to avoid something such as this later on. When a jar of ink opened and spilled some of its obsidian fluids onto Rhiannon's hands, the witch plopped onto her butt and sighed.

There goes all her ink until she can get to Hogsmeade. Not that she couldn't bum some ink off of another student or some other source, writing utensils were in quite an abundance at Hogwarts, it was just that... her father was very particular about the letters she or Keira sent. If it wasn't the right parchment, written with a quality quill and ink, and the sender's entire name (Surname, middle and given name, in that order) neatly scrawled in elegant but easy-to-read cursive in the lower right-hand corner of the letter, it would not be read.

In fact, it would be burned on arrival.

Smearing the ink on her hand, Rhiannon deduced that, if she would have to wait for the next trip to restock her ink then the letter to her parents would be late―and the punishment for tardiness was not one Rhiannon liked to say aloud―and so, she might as well use the ink to draft a letter now to send to her parents on Saturday.

Getting to her feet carefully, Rhiannon wrestled a quill and an untouched roll of parchment from her bag and hastily ventured from the Girls' Dormitory into the Common Room where light and a place to write was plentiful. Through the arched windows, Rhiannon could vaguely make out the beginnings of the sunrise over the mountainous view. Dragging her feet along the midnight-blue carpet as she ventured down the stairs and towards the fireplace to ignite another flame, Rhiannon passed the tall, intelligent-looking marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw.

Kneeling down in front of the hearth, Rhiannon muttered, _"Incendio." _and watched with glee as flames broke out across the surface of the slightly charred wood that sat innocently in the fire pit. She wasn't the best at wand-less magic so to see her spell actually work was enough to lift her spirits at least for the moment. Rising to her feet, Rhiannon crept to the nearest table and deposited her things upon it.

Taking a seat, the pureblood unraveled her roll of parchment as carefully as possible with just her one hand free and put her elbows on either side to keep it from rolling back up. The time spent between writing something that would please her parents and debating whether to tell them the truth about things―such as Keira's detention, Rhiannon's failings academically, and the general unsatisfactory way the two purebloods were going about their semester―Rhiannon felt herself slipping back into her foul mood.

Her parents were good for that; stressing and irritating Rhiannon. They could be a million miles away and just the thought of them could ruin Rhiannon's entire day. Their old-fashioned teachings that they tried to force-feed Rhiannon and Keira, their insensitive words and otherwise scornful behavior towards them―the latter more so than Rhiannon―the way that neither of them were never satisfied with anything their offspring had accomplished; always quick to scold but never to praise, diminishing all accomplishments by haughtily saying that purebloods are _supposed_ to be at the top of their class, supposed to achieve great things and that anything less would be disgraceful.

Rhiannon scowled, all too familiar with the word disgrace. The way her parents threw it around you would think they were perfect. You'd think it would lose its bite too but Mr. and Mrs. MacIntyre were inventive; adding floggings into punishment every so often to keep things fresh. Even when Rhiannon was feeling especially cheeky, at the use of the word 'disgrace' the pureblood was quick to fall back into line.

Scratching the back of her ankle with her nylon-clad toes, Rhiannon shifted in her seat and sat back. The letter, so far, was satisfactory; if she left it as is, Rhiannon was sure her mother and father would neither burn it nor complain about her shoddy prose. But it still remained that Rhiannon had omitted quite a bit of information. Rhiannon waved off the sense of dread that settled involuntarily in the pit of her stomach. What her parents didn't know wouldn't hurt them―besides, she had months still to improve her grades and Keira to... well, Keira had years to improve her craft.

Wiping her hand off on her robe, offhandedly reminding herself that it was impossible to stain black clothes, Rhiannon rolled her parchment back up and used the tie from her hair to secure it for now.

Back in the dormitory, she tucked her message away for a later date and began finding her uniform. As she pulled together her clothes, Rhiannon was treated to quite the fright when Ingrid sprung out from behind and captured Rhiannon's mouth with both of her hands to muffle the scream the taller witch surely let free.

"Morning," The blonde chirped, beside herself with glee at Rhiannon's surprise.

Heart pounding in her chest, Rhiannon gasped for breath against Ingrid's cupped hands before forcibly turning around in the shorter girl's arms to shove her away. "What was that for!?" The pureblood snapped hysterically.

Ingrid, in good spirits, raised a finger to her lips and shushed Rhiannon. "They're sleeping... c'mon, let's go to the kitchens."

Rhiannon frowned but fell into their friendly routine all the same. Glancing down at her garments and deeming herself too inappropriate to leave the tower, she frowned. "Can you at least let me get dressed first?"

Ingrid smiled as she shook her head dismissively. "Nope!"

When Rhiannon flat out refused to accompany Ingrid in response, the blonde pouted. "Aw, c'mon, Ann! The sun's not even up! Who's going to see you?"

"I don't know... Filch?" Rhiannon shot back.

Pursing her lips, Ingrid―mindful of Keira's slumbering form curled up amongst Rhiannon's pillows―plopped onto Rhiannon's bed in an ungraceful, groaning heap. "What does it matter if he sees you? He's F.I.L.C.H! Besides, I'm sure it'll make his day to see a perky arse barely concealed in skintight hosiery..."

"Barely concealed?" Rhiannon maneuvered awkwardly to stare at her bum and its apparent sheer covering.

Ingrid tried not to look pleased as she propped herself up on her elbows and watched Rhiannon fret about her bottom. Retrieving her wand from the pocket of her loose sweatpants, Ingrid pointed it in the direction of her respective bed. "_Accio _skirt." The trunk on the far side of the room popped open, from it shot an acid-washed denim skirt. The miniskirt zipped across the room with the distinctive whizzing sound an object might make soaring through the air at breakneck speeds. Ingrid dropped her wand onto the bed to catch it with a smirk. "Here you go, Ms. Self-Conscious." She said, handing the article of clothing to Rhiannon.

The pureblood looked unimpressed but accepted the skirt nonetheless. Slipping into it, Rhiannon frowned. "It's too short."

"No, you're too tall! Like freakishly so... _175.26 CM _whilst_ barefoot _is not okay for a girl. Can anyone say 'got milk'?" Ingrid joked lightheartedly as she slid off the bed to pull the waistband of her skirt down onto the swell of Rhiannon's somewhat bony hips. Figuring that it was still too short, she lengthened it with a quick spell. "Now, can we go?"

Rhiannon, though in disagreement with the length still as the hem of skirt just barely reached the tips of her fingers, sighed. "Fine."

* * *

The early morning snack was enough to stave off Rhiannon's hunger pangs but not enough to spoil her appetite, so after preening for the day ahead and dragging Keira out of her bed so that she too could get ready, Rhiannon was at the Great Hall to attend breakfast.

Dragging a brush through Keira's hair one last time, with a disapproving click of her teeth, Rhiannon set her sister off to join her friends at the far end of the Ravenclaw table. Today, it seemed that Keira was ready to end of reign of terror as she was all smiles when she was greeted by her friends from Ravenclaw and otherwise. Seeing sadness lingering in Keira's eyes still, Rhiannon wondered if the younger girl would be okay to attend class—but then quickly dispelled her thoughts of worry when a passing Hufflepuff lightheartedly joked about the messy arrangement of her hair.

Retorting with something equally as inane, Rhiannon moved to seat herself in case Ingrid had not yet come down to eat.

Despite the early hour, the Great Hall managed to be lively and bustling; students already occupying the long benches and chowing down on their preferred meals before class.

Rhiannon was combing through her hair with her fingers to detangle in undo knots before she went to roll her hair high-bun when she was bumped into from behind. Startling, she stumbled forward and lost her hairclip amongst the rows of feet that lay beneath Ravenclaw's table. Hearing a familiar, almost canned sort of laughter from behind her, Rhiannon turned begrudgingly to meet what she had already assumed to be a smirking Draco Malfoy; with him were his usual cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.

As her eyes met his silver-gray ones, Rhiannon's first inclination was to break his pointy little nose—surely, that would wipe the arrogant look of his face.

Typically, Rhiannon harbored no ill-will with the other pureblood—he was a conceited prat, sure, but then again so was she and Rhiannon knew full-well the consequence of throwing stones from glass houses—but after yesterday, Rhiannon felt nothing but contempt for Draco.

Knowing, though, that even flicking lint onto Draco's vest could get her another detention in Umbridge's office, Rhiannon dropped her hands from her messy hair and grimaced; forcing down her feelings of violence and hate long enough to look nothing more than a little vexed. "Oh, what do you want?" She snapped.

Draco's expression was challenging. "Is that anyway to greet your better?" Gesturing to his high-polished prefect badge, he smirked when he saw Rhiannon's hands ball into fists. "I would keep myself in check if I were you, MacIntyre; Umbridge hasn't yet forgotten you or your git sister."

Rhiannon gritted her teeth before letting the tension bleed from her altogether. If she could keep her cool when berated by her parents, she could very well laugh in the presence of a school bully like Malfoy. "So what, has Harry stopped playing with you? Is that why you're suddenly interested in my sister and me?"

Draco's face twisted up like a Veela mid-transformation. "Watch your mouth—"

"Yeah, my sister's a git and very well deserved to be caught for doing something as daft as hexing the toilet—but you've never once bothered with us." Rhiannon pressed forth, hands on her hips. "Not when she first came here—she was venerable back in the first-year: always crying, no good at anything; but you never said anything."

"I had better things to do than worry about than your pathetic Squib sister." Draco retorted.

Rhiannon continued on as if she hadn't been interrupted. "Then there's me. I don't ever remember us talking like this—as if we're rivals, or equals. You may be a pureblood too, but I'm YOUR better as a sixth-year. And I don't need a trifling label and a scarlet-letter to prove that."

Draco snarled. "How dare you talk to me like this? You have no right!" Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle took an intimidating step forward and even though they were the brightest students, they were surely good at picking up on their cues.

Rhiannon stuck to her guns, however, unafraid of the consequence as long as she could say she got Draco back. "What are you going to do about it, Stoolpigeon, go tell Umbridge how I hurt your feelings?" She glared.

Draco was seething. Brandishing his wand, he advanced on Rhiannon with words of venom. "I thought I told you to watch your filthy mouth, MacIntyre. You may talk to your simpleton friends like this, but I deserve nothing but respect!" He snapped. "If your whore mother spent more time raising her children instead of jumping into bed with every prominent pureblood, than you would know that!"

Rhiannon saw red then. She didn't even like her mother but—sod it… she knew as soon as she engaged Draco in conversation that he was going to try and get her in trouble. If not because of this, it would be because of something else. She might as well go down swinging.

Barely avoiding get punched in the face, Rhiannon lunged at Draco; her hands outstretched and fingers poised like claws. In the moment between hitting the floor and trying to claw his face off, Rhiannon's mind randomly picked up on the fact that she and Draco were the same height, his eyes—blown wide with visible fear at this point—were a really attractive shade of silver, and that his wand digging into her lower abdomen hurt like hell.

They hit the floor in a heap of limbs, Draco crying out as his head knocked against stone. His shriek was drowned out by the sound of students jumping from their seats and gasping at the scenario playing out before them—some laughed, others gossiped; no one intervened. Rhiannon too screamed, but more out of rage than pain. Sitting upright to straddle his stomach, she dug her blunt nails into Draco's pale face and proceeded to try and gouge his eyes out with her thumbs.

"You fucking prick! Son of a bitch! You've gone on long enough with this sodding superiority complex!" She swore over and over, wild with rage; completely uncaring of the many eyes on them. Feeling Draco's hands scramble to capture her wrists, Rhiannon shouted more angry words as Crabbe and Goyle finally came to Draco's rescue. "I'm going to break every bone in that pretty little face of yours' the first chance I get!" She threatened as she was pulled into a full-nelson by the larger of Draco's cronies.

"You're mad!" He shrieked, clutching his face. "I'll see to it that you're locked up! You and your vile, inbred family!" Draco pulled himself shakily to his feet, eyes alight with matching fury. "Somewhere far away—Azkaban! It's Azkaban for you!"

Rhiannon struggled against the hold, kicking her legs out and barking back with equal ferocity. "Fucking try it, Malfoy! I'd break out, and I swear I'd destroy you!" Despite the pain of being bound so tightly, she resisted—for another chance at Draco, she'd let the lout holding her break both of her arms. Her shoulder joints ached and her arms were beginning to sting from lack of blood flow but the nagging pain blossoming in her abdomen stole her attention; like warm water oozing out from a deep tear in a balloon, it spread alarmingly fast.

Her vision began to swim and Rhiannon felt her strength slipping. "I… I'll…" She wheezed, unable to find her words.

"What is the meaning of this!?" McGonagall snapped, having just arrived onto the scene; Hermione, Ron and Pansy Parkinson at her heels looking perturbed—like they'd just finished arguing with each other. "Mister Goyle, release her at once!" She ordered hotly.

Rhiannon fell to her knees after being let go of and she gasped breathlessly as her abdomen burned with white-hot agony. Clutching at the pain, Rhiannon found herself grasping a thin sliver of wood… wood? Chancing a look down, she discovered Draco's wand sticking out of her stomach; her hands as well as her clothes stained with blood. Trembling, she glanced up to see McGonagall berating the Slytherin Trio much to Pansy's chagrin. There was blood on Draco's clothes as well—her blood and the blood that stained his collar from the nicks her nails left in his cheeks.

"But, Professor, he started it!" Ron complained.

"—but MacIntyre hit him first!" Pansy added, elbowing the red-haired prefect to stand closer to McGonagall.

Ron glared at the Slytherin witch before elbowing her back. "The prat deserved whatever he got—" He interrupted himself to choke on a pained gasp as Hermione stamped on his foot. Her brown eyes narrowed into slits as she mouthed for him to stop talking.

_"You'll only make it worse, Ron!" _Hermione whispered hotly as McGonagall stepped away from the trio of prefects to assess Draco's wounds—the professor not yet aware of Rhiannon's own injuries.

Rhiannon, at hearing Hermione's voice, sagged inwardly. Two days in a row, Rhiannon found herself at the source of trouble; and two days in a row, Hermione ended up being involved—it was especially surprising today, however, considering how Rhiannon had been a git to Hermione.

Seeing the girl's worn features and the beginnings of a tired slouch in her shoulders, Rhiannon felt the pains of guilt stab at her chest. Nauseated, the pureblood tried to stand and almost fell over when the world turned before her eyes.

"Hey, you alright there, Ann?" Ron asked, noticing the way she swayed on her feet. His eyes found the wand lodged into her abdomen a moment later and the redhead's eyes widened—along with everyone else's in the Great Hall. "Professor McGonagall!"

"What, Mister Weasely?" McGonagall retorted turning away from Draco's wounded face to gasp at Rhiannon. "Good Lord, Miss MacIntyre! Someone, fetch—"

Rhiannon collapsed.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/n: I hate that I'm only writing this in Rhiannon's point of view.**

* * *

Madam Pomfrey's miracle cures took away most of Rhiannon's pain, leaving her with a dull ache and limited mobility in her abdomen but not even the strongest potion or salve could lessen the sting of one hundred points lost to Ravenclaw for her scrap with Draco. At first, everyone had been so worried for her well-being but when Professor Umbridge came down hard with her ruling, all the Ravenclaws essentially abandoned her; and could she blame them? She lost a gigantic portion of their points; points she did little to gain, more importantly,

Sitting in the infirmary wing two days after the incident, Rhiannon stared crossly into a bowl of onion soup Pomfrey had brought up for her. She had sports injuries that took less time to heal, what was the Matron playing at keeping her in here? Replacing the bowl on the tray on her bedside table, Rhiannon sank back against her pillows timidly and stared at the menagerie of things left at the foot of her bed: get well soon cards, homework, unopened mail; tall stacks of school books, Ingrid's cassette player and other sundry things...

She sighed, dropping her head on her raised knees. Even if she got out of the infirmary today, just exactly did she expect waited for her beyond those doors? Scornful classmates, that's what. And if she managed to avoid getting hexed by some pissed off Ravenclaw, who's to say that the Hufflepuffs won't be pissed at her, too—after all, they turned on Harry practically every year because some other house was mad at him for some varying reason.

The Slytherins were probably going to give her trouble too; not because Draco had lost them any points during the fight—Oh, Heavens, no! Umbridge excused him, of course, said, "it was all self-defense!"—but simply because she was now a target.

And if not the wrath of the student-body, Umbridge was going to get her good. Expulsion was off the table; no, Umbridge wouldn't be able to punish her for causing such unrest (which was a nice way to say, "Torture her with that demonic quill") if Rhiannon was kicked out of school.

In a note slipped to her by Ravenclaw's disgruntled Head Boy, Umbridge demanded Rhiannon's presence in her office every night until Christmas, the tone of her message implying only the worst. Rubbing the back of her hand subconsciously, unable to imagine the pain Keira felt as her skin was torn open and mutilated by Umbridge's evil magic, Rhiannon tried to convince herself that it was worth it: fighting with Draco, bullying Hermione, letting her grades slip or caring about them in the first place—was anything she did worth it?

In the end, Rhiannon's parents had planned her life out to the scantest of details: her future career, her marriage-prospects, how many kids she would have and where she would raise them.

And despite everything she did: getting onto Quidditch team, failing academically, dating and generally screwing around with guys, fighting, and the list goes on—her parents would not be deterred. No matter how much Rhiannon thought she acted out, it wasn't ever enough to lose her parents favor—not to say that the news of her fighting with Draco won't get her a flogging; she just won't be disinherited—and it was totally unfair. Her father had another child, Logan; her older half-brother, age twenty-three—why wasn't he the heir?

Why not Keira? She was always willing to please; she certainly had more potential... and a cleaner record to boot!

Rhiannon flicked her hair off her shoulder angrily, casting a heated look through the window and out across the dreary landscape. The sky was a bitter shade of gray, clouds heavy with the promise of rain hanging overhead and essentially white-washing what should have been a beautiful, scenic view.

"Even the weather's in a bad mood." Rhiannon said huffily, watching as students crossed the grounds below at the haste of Hagrid; even with the threat of rain, Care of Magical Creatures was still on, apparently. For how long, though? Umbridge seemed keen to sack the Groundskeeper. The thought of Hagrid losing his job made Rhiannon's shoulders sag all the more.

Today was depressing. She just wanted to lay back and fall asleep.

The door to the infirmary being thrown open dash those hopes; the sound of her friends screaming her name and causing general discord—followed by the angry ranting of Madam Pomfrey threatening to throw them out—made Rhiannon perk up... if not a little bit.

Rhiannon's friends appeared at the foot of her bed moments later, expressions failing to be plaintive in the face of an irritated Pomfrey as the corners of their mouths strained upwards with poorly veiled smiles. "Miss MacIntyre needs her rest, but I understand that you lot are her friends—" Pomfrey said, eyeing them suspiciously. "If you promise to stay quiet and not to climb on the bed like heathens, you may stay until your next classes."

They all nodded, staying their giddiness long enough to politely thank the Matron. Poppy looked unimpressed but bid them farewell to attend to other matters. As soon as she was gone, Ingrid hopped onto Rhiannon's bed, arms wrapping around the pureblood's drawn-up legs like veins. "How're you holding up in here?" The blonde asked between gleeful little laughs.

Taking purchase on whatever parts of the bed were left were Rhiannon's other two visitors: Bridgette Stroud; a Hufflepuff and a fellow sixth-year with blocky glasses and Stefani D'Angelo; Ingrid and Rhiannon's mate from Charms.

Rhiannon shrugged, unfazed by her friends decidedly close proximity as it took her mind off of the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "I've been... more or less contemplating whether or not I should jump out the window."

Stefani raked her fingers through her shoulder-length jet-black hair as she leant back against the headboard of Rhiannon's bed and glanced out the window to watch the last of the Gryffindor fifth-years disappear in the surrounding forest. "That would make for a mighty long fall."

"If you could break the window, I reckon you'd die instantly upon impact with the ground." Bridgette added, leaning her head on Rhiannon's shoulder.

Ingrid glared at the other two girls as she squeezed Rhiannon's legs a little tighter in her arms. "Yeah, you two are really helping."

Stefani flashed her prettiest smile before laughing haughtily. "You're welcome, Templeton." Snatching her legs to her chest when Ingrid tried to swat at her, she only laughed harder. "Oh, come off it! You know I was joking—stop being so sensitive!"

Bridgette rolled her oak-colored eyes behind the thick frames of her specs. Turning her gaze onto Rhiannon, she smiled sympathetically. "If you want, I can ask Pomfrey how much longer you have to stay cooped up in here."

Rhiannon shook her head dismissively. "It's alright... don't trouble yourself with me, Bridge; stuck in here, I've got nothing better to do than focus on my studies."

Ingrid and Stefani both gasped in comedic disbelief.

_"Focus on your studies?" _The blonde parroted with wide hazel-colored eyes.

"And why ever would you do that?" Stefani inquired, poking Rhiannon's cheek just to be annoying. "Who would be the stupid one in our clique, if not you?"

Rhiannon batted Stefani's hand away, half-heartedly glaring. "What do you mean the _'stupid one'_? I'm only failing in ONE class, the rest are—"

"Barely passing..." Bridgette interrupted, clicking her teeth as she scooted down the bed just enough to reach out and fish through the small pile of confectionaries obligatorily left by students who wished to remain unknown. After pocketing two chocolate-covered frogs, Bridgette settled back in her original spot with a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

Rhiannon narrowed her eyes at Bridgette before elbowing the other witch hard enough to knock her off the bed. Smiling wickedly at the thud of Bridge hitting the floor and the shriek she made thereafter, Rhiannon turned back to Stefani and Ingrid. "I've got better grades than all three of you in Charms, so suck it."

Bridgette groaned. Rubbing her head as she pulled herself back onto the bed, in her hand the box of candy was smashed. Rhiannon's sweet tooth cried bloody murder.

Stefani wrinkled her nose, hand reaching into the fold of her school-robes to retrieve her wand. Putting the tip of her wand to her throat, the Italian witch spoke in a voice that sounded incredibly identical to Professor Snape's: "But you're failing Potions, Miss MacIntyre—and that's inexcuuusaaable!"

Ingrid laughed so hard she snorted.

Bridgette, though frazzled by her fall, laughed too. "Whoa, how'd you do that?" She asked, pulling her glasses off to inspect them for damage.

Stefani smirked with a grand flourish of her hands. "A magician never reveals her greatest tricks."

"Oh, sod off!" Ingrid whined. "You're such a show-off, Stef."

_"Am not!"_

_"Are too!"_

Rhiannon rubbed her temples as she listened to the two bicker. Usually, she didn't mind the two going at it; it was harmless and far more frequent than anyone liked to admit—but right not, she wanted to tear her hair out. Raking her fingers through said hair, she clinched her eyes shut to stave off an oncoming headache.

It got to be too much when Ingrid and Stefani began shooting Aquamenti charms at each other from across the bed; effectively wetting up Rhiannon's sheets and clothes and souring her mood entirely. "Enough!" Rhiannon shouted, lunging forward and snatching both of her friends' wands from their grasp. Chucking them across the room, the pureblood shouted. "You guys are driving me mad! Just go—leave me alone."

Stefani was off the bed as soon as her wand took flight—cursing and stumbling over her robe as she went—but even from across the infirmary, she could hear Rhiannon ordering them out. And if Stefani could hear Rhiannon, Pomfrey certainly could.

"Out! You girls get out of here, this instant!" The Matron commanded.

The trio, after Ingrid reclaimed her wand, left in a hurry; gossiping amongst themselves as the door slammed shut behind them.

Pomfrey came to Rhiannon's bedside and checked her temperature with a well-aged hand on the pureblood's forehead. "Are you feeling well?"

Rhiannon nodded, feeling the Matron brush her fringe from her face to get a better feel at her flushed skin. "Yeah, just... a little nauseated."

Pomfrey clicked her teeth, wagging her finger in admonishment. "I told you to drink your soup, Miss MacIntyre."

Rhiannon scrunched her face up in disagreement but took her onion soup from the bedside platter nevertheless. As she did so, Pomfrey dealt with the matter of her wet linens.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/n: I'm beginning to lose interest... I hope it doesn't show. D:**

* * *

The infirmary fell silent until the next day, no one else wishing to visit lest they get berated by Pomfrey. Another bowl of bitter onion soup had been presented to Rhiannon for lunch and the pureblood sucked it down with a scowl and settled back against her pillows. Rain began to pelt the window by late noon and melancholy had settled over Rhiannon like a burden worthy of Atlas. Shoulders sagged and head rested on her hand, she watched the moderate rain pour from the dark clouds overhead.

Rolling onto her uninjured side away from the window, Rhiannon closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

Her eyes fluttered open when the door was gently pushed open and Harry poked his head inside. Hair wild like the untamed foliage deep within the depths of the Forbidden Forest, eyes a distinctive shade of bottle green hidden behind his well-worn round trademark-classes, face as young as it was weary.

Watching him through her half-lidded eyes, Rhiannon could only wonder why he was here...

And then it hit her; Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, had come to visit her.

_Oh, this couldn't be good!_

Rhiannon almost jolted upright but steeled her nerves as she pulled her sheets up the length of her torso. Sitting up just enough to prop herself up on her elbows, Rhiannon cast an unknowingly challenging look at Harry as she tried to discern _why_ he had come to see her.

Closing the door equally as gentle behind him as he stepped into the room, Harry startled somewhat at Rhiannon's "thousand yard stare". Whatever Pomfrey gave her, it sure was strong. Approaching the bed gingerly, Harry fished in his pocket and retrieved Rhiannon's wand. "Hermione wanted me to return this..." He said, depositing the object at the foot of Rhiannon's bed amongst the large assortment of things there.

Rhiannon nodded slowly before sitting up all the way against the headboard. "That was nice of her..." She said not at all sounding like her usual self. "Thank you."

Harry looked unsure, but his Gryffindor bravery wouldn't let him stay that way for long. Pushing a few of Rhiannon's text books out the way, Harry took a seat on the edge of the bed, his eyes focused and his mouth set to ask a question. Rhiannon involuntarily tensed, having an idea of just what his inquiry might be.

"I didn't know you could fight." Harry announced to Rhiannon's surprise.

"What?" She asked as though startled from a reverie.

"You hurt Draco's face pretty bad; I didn't know purebloods knew how to fight beyond dark magic and stuff." Harry replied idly, mouth tugging up in the corners with the beginnings of a smirk.

Rhiannon shifted uneasily but returned a half-smile politely. "Yeah, well, there are a lot of things that I do that I shouldn't be."

"Like?" Harry probed.

Rhiannon rolled her eyes. "_Like..._ slagging off about my authority figures; slacking off in class—"

"Being friends with anyone who's not a pureblood or otherwise an asset to your family?" Harry added and suddenly, Rhiannon felt like she was sinking again.

"We purebloods must be getting predictable..." Rhiannon joked somewhat bitterly. Sighing afterward, she scratched the nape of her neck to keep from fidgeting. "But, as you know, I did it anyways; I befriended whomever I wanted. Ingrid, Bridgette, Hermione—" She faltered. Looking down at her legs, she worried her lip.

Feeling Harry's gaze on her, and knowing that he was about to start talking again, Rhiannon pushed through her own muddled feelings to continue. "Well, I did it anyways because, really, what do _my_ parents know about anything? They've been stuck up in that ivory tower of theirs' for years; prattling on and on about supremacy and all that noise... So fucked in the head by their 'genetic purity' that they can't be bothered to remember they're practically brother and sister—"

Angrily pressing the heels of her hands into her brow bone, Rhiannon gritted her teeth. "I can't remember the last time I've seen my parents in the presence of Muggles and yet they talk about them as if they're a bother; like Muggle-life really interferes with Mother's trips to Romania or Father's work with the Ministry."

Harry's expression was neutral as he listened to Rhiannon rant. He was no stranger to prejudice pureblood families or the spawn they produced; these overzealous parents and their spoiled bunch of children—Rhiannon story was one of many...

_At least she had parents._

The conversation hit a brick wall when Rhiannon found herself venturing to places not meant for the prying ears of outsiders. Reeling herself back in, Rhiannon sat up on her knees in bed and announced to Harry that she was finally ready to leave the Hospital Wing. "Too much melancholy—too much time to think." She explained. "Hand me my wand, please."

Harry stared at the silhouette of Rhiannon's body through the thinness of her simple white gown before remembering himself and retrieving the pureblood's wand for her.

Rhiannon took it back with another thanks before tucking her wand behind her ear and climbing off her bed. "What time is it?"

Harry glanced down at his wristwatch, through the dirty clock-face he could vaguely make out the time. "It's almost one." He informed.

Rhiannon scowled. "Crap, even if I hurry I'll be late for Charms." Reaching under the pile of books on her bed, the pureblood freed an extra set of school-clothes that Stefani brought the other day. "Turn around—" She ordered brusquely to Harry before she turned her back to him and pulled her gown over her head. The room was cold; her bare skin broke out in goosebumps at being exposed.

Harry, who had just started turning around, got an eyeful of Rhiannon's naked form. "—Normally, I wouldn't care but today I don't have anything on, so... I wanna make sure I don't blind you or something." She joked soberly.

Harry swallowed dryly before finally looking away as Rhiannon stepped into the pair of panties Stefani had left. "Ehh... so, Ann—"

"Harry..." Rhiannon interrupted, pulling a camisole over her bare-chest and then a standard, white button-up shirt over it. "How is Hermione?" She asked gently.

Harry cleared his throat as he stared at the door. "She's holding up. I mean, she's still cross with you—especially since you have yet to acknowledge her since you two fell out. I'm beginning to think that an apology won't suffice."

Rhiannon pulled on her skirt with a hard, irritated yank that almost sent her stumbling forward. "If she wants to talk about it, why won't she come to me?" Plopping onto the bed, she started pulling on her favorite stockings. "Why it is only my fault? Because I'm the big bad pureblood I have to take all the blame?!"

Harry turned around with a defensive-look in his eyes. "Well Hermione didn't hit the ceiling, did she?"

Rhiannon jerked back as if burned. "I didn't—it's not as bad as she's making it sound! Why do I need to apologize if we're not even fighting?" She retorted.

"To put her at ease; remind her that forgiving you wasn't the dumbest idea she's ever had—to save us all the trouble of hearing her whinge about you between classes." Harry listed his reasons with upraised fingers.

Rhiannon's hands balled into fists around the stretchy-fabric of her nylons. Glaring at Harry, she stood up and pulled them up all the way. "Fine! If it gets everyone off my back, I'll apologize."

"No, that's not what I meant." Harry snapped exasperatedly, standing abruptly and grabbing Rhiannon's hand to keep the pureblood from dressing any further. Rhiannon glared where she stood, disheveled but otherwise decent, but didn't fight Harry's hold on her wrist. "Talk to her. Hermione's your friend; why are you making this so hard?"

Rhiannon frowned. "I'm not doing anything—"

"Exactly." Harry interrupted. "Even Ron would've apologize by now; and if not, they would at least being seeing each other more than once a day, across crowded hallways." His voice was flat, the barely-there wrinkles forming under his eyelids much more visible at the short distance between them—they made him look tired. Aged.

Rhiannon felt worse then.

She was letting their friends be dragged into her and Hermione's quarrel—and why, because she was too damned proud?

Wrestling her hand free from Harry's, Rhiannon went about rearranging her clothes. "When's Hermione next class?" She asked; tucking her blouse into her skirt as was customary.

Harry looked out the window as if the Heavens held the answer to her question. "In an hour, I think? She's in the library, right now, though."

Rhiannon's expression flickered from cross to nauseated, but she tried to look thankful nonetheless. Pulling Harry into a nervous embrace, the pureblood mumbled something foul under her breath.

Harry went rigid at the hug, holding his hands awkwardly to avoid touching anything unnecessarily. At the voice in his ear and the breath tickling the side of his neck, he furrowed his brows. "Come again...?"

Rhiannon pulled away then, her expression sardonic. "Wish me luck." She crossed her fingers, moving away completely and toeing into her shoes. Pulling her wand from behind her ear and tucking it into the innermost pocket of the dark-gray vest she pulled over her head, the pureblood started towards the door.

"Wait... what about Pomfrey?" Harry asked.

Rhiannon waved him off as she pulled the door open. "You'll come up with something." As she left, Rhiannon barely noticed the crimson-stained bandages Harry wore on his writing-hand.


End file.
